


like father, like son

by glittering_git



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Dubious Consent Due To Identity Issues, Incest if you squint, M/M, Obsession, Polyjuice Potion, Power Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-30 15:30:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17831231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glittering_git/pseuds/glittering_git
Summary: Draco had moved to Paris to escape the post-War scrutiny. He’d been living a quiet life until a certain Mr Potter showed up.





	like father, like son

**Author's Note:**

> This one took a team to put together, and would not have been possible without all of their help! Thank you to the best alpha reader in all the land, [Jay||breathofmine](https://breathofmine.tumblr.com/), for listening to me ramble and helping me draft this fic! Thanks to my wonderful betas: [summer](http://writersummer.tumblr.com/), for the quick, thorough, and thoughtful comments, [primavera-cerezos](https://primavera-cerezos.tumblr.com/) for the helpful notes and generous thoughts, and [spooky](https://buttertyrant.tumblr.com/) for the final look through! Y’all are the best ♥ A huge shoutout to writcraft for putting together this mini-fest! 
> 
> **Please note:** This was written for a dark fest, and so features some pretty dark themes. I have marked “creator chose not to use archive warnings” in addition to the tags above, so there may be additional dark content. If you have any questions or want to know more about a particular tag, please feel free to reach out. Thanks!

It was another boring Tuesday and Draco couldn’t wait until he could go home and curl up in front of the fire with a good book and a large glass of his favourite red. He cast a quick _Tempus_ and sighed when he saw that only ten minutes had passed since he’d last checked the time.

“Mr Malfoy, if I don’t see you doing work soon, there will be consequences,” Brunnock, Draco’s boss, said sternly from his desk across the room. “I’ve watched you cast _Tempus_ three times in the past hour alone, and seen you do no actual work.” 

“You know that an untrained Cornish pixie could do what I’m doing,” Draco protested. 

“Do you see any untrained Cornish pixies here?” Brunnock asked, making a show of looking around the small office. Draco only shook his head wearily. “No, then I expect _you_ to do the job that I pay you to do.”

Draco knew there was no use in continuing to argue. Brunnock was unusually kind to him, but even he had his limits. He closed his eyes and let out a sigh. Only two more hours. 

“Excuse me,” came a hesitant voice from the open door. Draco opened his eyes and saw two people standing there. One was Draco’s colleague, Erknus. The other, well, it was only his years spent keeping an emotionless expression on his face around the Dark Lord that kept him from reacting. “But I have a Mr Potter here to open an account at Banque Nacionale d’ Or.”

“Thank you for bringing him, Erknus. We can handle it from here.” Brunnock dismissed him with a wave of his hand. “Now, Mr Potter, Mr Malfoy will be able to help you right over there.” 

Draco took a deep breath and called up his infamous Malfoy smirk. “Mr Potter, thank you very much for coming in today. I do hope that we can satisfy all your banking needs.” He stood up and offered his hand for Potter to shake. 

“Umm thanks,” Potter said, taking the offered hand and shaking it firmly. He let his hand drop, but Draco could feel his gaze lingering. He swept it upwards, and Draco could tell that he was intrigued; he knew what it felt like to be appreciated. He couldn’t blame him—he knew exactly what he looked like. 

His robes were midnight blue and cut in the latest style, a mix of Muggle and Wizard. The high-necked collar opened across his chest to reveal a slate grey waistcoat over a white silk shirt that was tucked into a pair of trim grey trousers. When Potter’s gaze finally reached his, he found himself transported back to Hogwarts. 

“Mr Malfoy, as I was telling your colleague, I’m here on a year-long exchange program and I need to open a new account.”

“Did you apply online? We do have an application for that. As you’re likely to find out on your exchange, the barriers between Muggles and Wizards are very loose here in Paris.”

“Yes, but because I was applying in the UK, it said that I still needed to come in person to finish up.”

“Well, I can certainly help you there. I’ll just need to check two forms of ID, one of which has to be your magical signature, which can be verified through your wand.” Draco held out his hand and waited as Potter retrieved his wand from his backpack. He drew out his own wand and whispered the incantation, watching the colours around Potter’s wand change and shift until they flashed a bright green. “Your wand matches your magical signature, Mr Potter.”

“Could you just call me Albus?” he asked quietly. “Mr Potter sounds like my father, and well,” he gestures vaguely, “ I came to France to escape all that.”

“Not so much fun being the son of The Chosen One?” 

“Not really.” Albus looked around hastily as if reporters were lurking, ready to take note of anyone who had a bad word to say about Harry Potter. He relaxed when he realized that the office was empty except for them—Brunnock had stepped out to deal with another matter. “I love my dad, you know, it’s just a lot. Especially because I look like him.” 

Draco could only nod, because it was true. If it weren’t for the fact that he didn’t have a scar on his forehead, Draco would have sworn that he was looking at Harry Potter 25 years ago. It was disconcerting because it made Draco feel as if he were right back there, a scared teenager not ready to lose his family for a cause that he no longer believed in. 

“I know a bit of what it can feel like to not live up to society’s expectations of you, Albus,” Draco offered. He usually wasn’t this open, especially with people that he had just met, but he had to admit that there was something compelling about Potter’s son. “We don’t have to mention your father ever again, if that is what you would prefer.” 

“Thanks, Mr Malfoy,” Albus responded. “Now, you said something about two forms of ID. I also have this.” He reached into the front pocket of his backpack and pulled out his Muggle passport. After the War, the Wizarding World in Britain had tried to embrace the Muggle one, and one of the easiest things to adopt was the bureaucracy. It was standard practice to issue Muggle IDs to students graduating from Hogwarts. Draco took the passport and performed a quick spell to ensure that it wasn’t a fake. 

“Now, let me just take a look at our system and see what I can do.” Draco started entering the information that Albus had given him into the old computer on his desk. New Muggle technology and wizarding spells didn’t tend to mix very well, but there was something different about old Muggle technology that was more adaptable to wizarding needs. Draco had actually been involved in no small capacity in establishing the current system that Banque Nacionale d’ Or used. 

As he continued to work through each form, Draco couldn’t help but let his eyes stray to Albus. He was sitting with one leg crossed over the other, tapping his fingers lightly on the desk. He wasn’t wearing any glasses, which only made his eyes even more captivating. Draco kept expecting to see the famous jagged scar on Albus’s forehead, his eyes searching for that last piece to the puzzle. A soft ding brought Draco’s attention back to his computer and he frowned at the message on his screen. 

“What’s wrong?” Albus asked. 

“There’s nothing wrong, per se,” Draco hedged. “It’s simply a matter of me talking to Brunnock, and then everything will be fine.” At Albus’s panicked expression, Draco did his best to placate him with a calm reassurance that he would be right back. 

Draco pushed back from his desk and strode out the office door. At the end of the hallway, he took a sharp left and then another right which brought him to the break room. Brunnock was leaning against the back counter, a steaming cup of tea levitating in front of him. He was deep in conversation with Agnok but turned his attention when Draco coughed politely. 

“Everything alright with that Potter boy?” 

“I just had a quick question. When I was entering Albus’s information into the system, I received a notification that said that I needed your approval to continue.”

“Oh, that is simply a final verification of Mr Potter’s identity.” He reached into his pocket and procured a small fob. He raised his wand and the fob flashed red and then returned to its original colour. “This should do. Just stick it in the side of the computer and you’ll be able to continue.” 

“Thank you.” Draco took the small fob and walked slowly out of the breakroom. He didn’t know what to do next. On the one hand, this was a simple problem with a simple solution. But, this was the closest that he’d been to the Potters since leaving Britain after the War. He might never get another chance like this. Sure, Albus wasn’t his father, aside from the striking resemblance, but he was a connection, no matter how tenuous. 

“So, is everything okay?” Albus asked, standing up as soon as Draco walked back into his office. 

“Please, take a seat.” Draco gestured as he returned to his desk. Albus did so, but his nervous demeanor did not change. Both of his hands now rested on the desk, and they were moving in tandem, _tap tap tapping, tap tap tapping_. “Unfortunately, it looks like you’ll need to come in again.” 

Albus became even more visibly upset, gripping the edge of the desk so hard that there’d be marks on his fingers. “And there’s nothing else you can do?” he pleaded. 

“I am truly sorry, but no, there is not.” 

“I just…”Albus trailed off, looking around the office once again. “I just need access to my money that’s back in my UK account. I ran out of the cash I brought with me, and I don’t want to ask Dad.” He looked at Draco entreatingly. “You get that, right? So if I can’t open an account, and then transfer some money, I don’t have anything.” 

Draco breathed in slowly, his mind working quickly. Maybe there was something he could offer, something that would make Harry Potter’s son indebted to _him_. “I think I know a way that I can help you there.” 

…..

Harry let out a long sigh and dropped his head to where his arms were folded on his desk. Why had he thought that becoming the bloody Head Auror was a good idea? It was too much paperwork and not enough duelling. 

A _tap tap_ on his window made him look up wearily. Light snow was falling, covering the grey of London in a white blanket. He recognized the owl as one of the official ones of Britain’s Wizarding National Post Service. 

Another downside to being the Head Auror and having his own private office was that he couldn't bribe anyone to get his owls for him. He got up slowly and went over to the window, letting the owl and a bit of snow into the office. He carefully untied the note and walked back to his desk, and the owl followed, hoping for a treat. He obliged, absently reaching into his desk while reading the note. 

It was from Albus, and Harry was having a hard time reading the cramped handwriting. Ginny was always teasing him, like father, like son. But Harry couldn’t believe that his handwriting had ever been _quite_ that hard to decipher. 

Albus had a way of being unintentionally funny, often tending toward the dramatic. He was writing to tell Harry about some problems that he was having opening a bank account in Paris.

He breathed in sharply at the next line. Apparently Albus had met a very nice Mr Malfoy, who had mentioned that he knew his father. And who Albus remembered his father mentioning once or twice. 

Now there was someone who Harry hadn’t thought about for years. 

Well, he admitted, his thoughts had occasionally wandered in that direction once or twice over the years. Or at least once a week, but who was counting? After the War, Draco dropped completely off the map. Through his job, Harry had been able to find out that he’d fled to France, where some of the extended Black family lived. He’d had a son with Astoria Greengrass, but they’d divorced soon after the birth. After that, it was hard to find information. And Harry was a curious person. Well, he was curious about a certain Draco Malfoy. 

Apparently, Malfoy had been quite willing to go above and beyond for Albus, even offering to show him around Paris to make up for the bank issues and spot him a bit of money because Albus didn’t have easy access to his funds. 

Harry was glad that his son had someone to help him out, someone who knew the culture and the area well, but did that person have to be Malfoy? What did Malfoy get out of it, anyway? No one would call Malfoy self-sacrificing. 

Maybe Harry wasn’t being fair. It had been over 20 years, after all, and they’d all changed. But Malfoy was still a git. Probably a pointy git at that. Sure, he’d probably aged well, it was in the bloody Malfoy and Black genes, but he was still a git. 

Harry contemplated the letter again. Maybe he needed to visit his son, help him figure out the bank situation. And if he ended up seeing Malfoy again, well, so what? 

……

Draco waited impatiently at the immaculately set table at Le Cinq, which had just recently expanded to the Boulevard Haussmann Les Grand Magasins De Paris. He’d arrived promptly at seven, as any person with manners would have done, but he’d been kept waiting for 20 minutes by Albus. 

This wasn’t the first time that Albus had kept him waiting in the past few weeks that they’d been spending time together, but Draco had thought the conversation yesterday had solved the problem. Apparently it had not. 

The waiter came by again, looking pointedly at the empty seat across from him. Draco just stared at him until he sighed and left. He’d ordered for both him and Albus, but insisted upon the kitchen holding until he’d arrived. 

Draco was just about to take a sip of his wine when his harried dinner companion finally arrived. He set the glass down gently and waited. 

“I’m so sorry, Draco. Class ran late,” Albus said between large gulps of air. “Please forgive me—I know how important timeliness is to you.” 

“This is the second time that this has happened is as many days,” Draco admonished. “You told me that you wanted me to treat you as I would any other of my,” he paused for a moment, “acquaintances, and not like you’re a 19-year-old in Paris on a lark.” 

“Please,” Albus said. “You know there’s nothing I can do about my professors. Well,” he amended, “short of walking out of class in the middle of a lecture.” 

Draco sighed. While walking out of lectures in the middle of them certainly sounded like something a certain Potter would have done, it was not something Albus would do. “Fine. I accept your apology.”

Albus smiled, and Draco had to look away. It still hurt to see such an expression on a face so familiar, and unfamiliar at once. It was something that he used to long desperately for, although he’d never admit it. “Thank you, Draco. I promise you won’t regret it.” Albus tried to wink clumsily and Draco could only sigh again. 

“Albus,” he said warningly. “Please, we talked about this yesterday.”

Albus did not look ashamed and only looked at Draco through lowered lashes. “Can you really blame me? You take me to the nicest parts of the city, both Muggle and Wizard, you take me to extravagant restaurants, and to top it off, you’re paying for it all because I _still_ can’t manage to open a goddamn bank account.”

“This is simply what I wish someone had done for me when I was your age,” Draco admitted. Coming to Paris after the War had been one of the hardest challenges that he’d faced in his short life, and he’d had the Dark Lord living with him for over a year. But that wasn’t the entire truth, either. There was something intoxicating about having captured the attention of this Potter boy, whether it be because of his connection with _The Harry Potter_ or the fact that Albus looked up to him with pure adoration, it was hard to say. Draco had never claimed to be a saint. 

“I know, I know. You had to leave Britain in disgrace because you were on the wrong side of the War,” Albus said in an exasperated tone, in a way that said _you have told me this many times before_. But he didn’t understand, not really. He simply had no frame of reference for what those post-War years were like, especially for those who had been so close to the Dark Lord that the stain he left on their lives was one that stayed for many long years after. “But that’s all in the past.” If only others were as forgiving as Albus Severus Potter. “Now, you’ve got a nice life with a cosy flat and an adorably fluffy Kneazle.” 

Draco could feel a reluctant smile settling over his face—Stella was the world’s best Kneazle. Scorpius had really wanted a pet snake for his tenth birthday, but Draco had an irrational fear of snakes. He’d never admit it to anyone, because what kind of Slytherin was afraid of their lauded house symbol? His careful facade would fall apart if people knew. He’d managed to convince Scorpius that a Kneazle was even better than a snake because Kneazles were fluffy and could even be snuggled. “I am not sure I would call myself successful based simply on those three criteria.” 

“Well, for such a smart man, Draco, you can sure be obtuse.” 

“Obtuse is not usually an adjective that people would use to describe me.” 

“Those people obviously don’t know you well.”

“Monsieurs, if I may,” the waiter from earlier interrupted, setting two heavy plates down. Albus politely thanked him as he left the table. 

“And you think you do?” Draco asked, a bit flirtatiously. Even though he wasn’t _actively_ trying to encourage Albus, he was still Draco Malfoy. And this was Harry Potter’s son. 

“Not well, but well enough to say that you can be quite obstinate when you want to,” Albus said as he cut a large piece of his filet mignon. 

“Obstinate and obtuse are not the same thing,” Draco was quick to point out, taking a sip of his wine. 

“Thank you for that vocabulary lesson, Mr Malfoy,” Albus teased insouciantly. “You can be both obstinate _and_ obtuse. People are more than just one single thing, as you very well know.” He looked pointedly at Draco, and Draco couldn’t help but look back. The tapered candles on the table cast a warm glow over Albus’s features, making the green of his eyes even brighter. And he did have a point. 

“I admit you might be the slightest bit correct,” Draco hedged. He was definitely obstinate and could even be obtuse, although he’d choose to call it willful ignorance, and it had served him well in the past. Much like it’d served Albus’s father, he couldn’t help but note. 

“Wow, what a rare thing. Draco Malfoy admitting he was wrong? Alert the press.”

Draco just shook his head. 

“Speaking of the press,” Draco began, unsure if he should even bring it up. Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley’s divorce had blown up over night, with an exclusive interview published by _The Quibbler_. Even the wizarding presses in Paris had run with half-researched articles about what this would mean for the Wizarding World at large. 

Albus just sighed in a way that made him seem much older than he really was. “Yes, yes, the famous Harry Potter and his wife are getting divorced. Can we please not talk about it? I was having such a nice evening, and rehashing my parents’ divorce is not something I really want to do right now.” 

“Fine,” Draco conceded. He could understand, really, what it was like to have your family business plastered across the news, but still, this was Harry Potter. “Will you just answer one question and then I promise I’ll let it go?” Draco entreated, giving his best impression of what the Muggles called puppy-dog eyes. 

Albus bit his lip and looked away. “One question.”

Draco smiled.

“But only if you’ll answer one of mine in return,” he added.

That was only fair, Draco thought, and he could probably guess what the question was going to be. “Are the rumours true?”

“Which ones?” Albus asked bitterly. “You’re going to have to be more specific.” 

“That they’re splitting up because Harry Potter’s not straight?”

Albus just looked down at the table and was quiet. “I’m not sure I should be telling you this, but I trust you,” he said earnestly. “Despite my dad’s warnings, you’ve been nothing but kind to me. That particular rumour is true. My dad’s not straight.”

Draco honestly wasn’t surprised. It was 2026 and queer had become the new black, widely accepted and worn with pride. For Merlin’s sake, even he knew that his schoolboy obsession with Potter hadn’t just been jealousy, but something more. 

“But now it’s my turn,” Albus insisted. “Why do you keep saying that we shouldn’t sleep together? I know that you’re interested, and that you’re not one to deny yourself things that you want.”

Draco held Albus’s gaze. It was true—he did want Albus. But only because of his startling resemblance to his father, and that just wasn’t fair to Albus. He didn’t want to settle, especially after learning that Harry Potter _was_ an option. 

It was irrational of him, he knew, but there was something about Harry Potter that would always get under his skin. Albus continued to look at him expectantly and Draco realized that he needed an answer. A half-truth always worked best. “It isn’t that I don’t find you…” he paused for a moment, searching for the right word, “attractive, but I don’t want to cause a scandal. I’ve worked hard to create this life for myself.

“No one would need to know,” Albus pleaded. “I can be discreet. Give me a chance, Draco.”

Maybe it was the fact that Albus had asked more times than Draco could count. Maybe it was because fucking Harry Potter’s son would feel vindicating. Maybe it was because Draco wasn’t one to deny himself the things that he wanted, and he wanted Albus Potter. Maybe it was a combination of reasons. Regardless, Draco found that he no longer wanted to say no. 

As the silence moved into the territory of being awkward, Albus asked hesitantly, “So, does this mean what I think it does?”

“Yes,” Draco said with finality. “You’ve managed to convince me. Score one for Albus Potter.” He held up his glass in a mock toast. 

A smile broke over Albus’s face, and he once again looked like the 19-year-old that he was. “You won’t regret it.” He winked. “Because I’m so much younger than you, I’ve got _stamina_.” 

Draco just sighed. 19-year-old boys. . 

“And,” Albus continued. “We had planned our next meeting for the day after Valentine’s Day. Even though it’s not a big holiday here, it’s still kind of sweet, wouldn’t you say?”

“Don’t expect rose petals or chocolates,” Draco warned. “If that’s what you’re hoping for, I’d suggest that you find another partner immediately.” 

“No, no, that’s not what I’m expecting, nor is it what I want,” Albus hastened to reassure. “I’m here because I want _you_ , Draco Malfoy—snark, maturity, and all.”

Draco rolled his eyes at that. Albus just continued to beam at him.

“I’m just glad that I was able to make you see my side of things. I must have some of my father’s legendary charm.” He smirked. 

He had something of his father’s, Draco thought. Something that would make the next time they met even more of a thrill.

….. 

Draco held up a hand to slow Albus down. He’d been acting weird all night, ever since he’d shown up at Draco’s flat. 

Draco had planned on eating a light dinner and having a drink or two, but Albus had immediately insisted upon going to the bedroom. He’d not said much of anything, really, being uncharastically taciturn. He’d even seemed surprised to see Draco, as if he’d been expecting somebody else. 

When Albus didn’t want to eat dinner, Draco was sure he’d want a drink. Albus always seemed very appreciative of Draco’s selection of fine wines. But he’d blown past that, motioning straight to the bedroom. 

“Why are you in such a hurry?” Draco asked, hand up indicating that Albus should stop. “I know that you might be a little nervous, but there’s no need to rush.”

Albus stopped trying to forcibly move in the direction of Draco’s bedroom, but still wouldn’t make eye contact. “Nervous? Why would I be nervous?”

“It’s normal to experience some nerves with a new partner, ” Draco tried explaining, unsure where this weird behaviour was coming from. 

“New partner?” Albus asked, eyes going wide in shock. “You mean you and he—I mean, you and I—” he hastily corrected, “haven’t done this,” he gestured between them, “before?”

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Draco asked, really starting to be concerned. “You’re not making any sense, Albus.” 

“No, no, you’re right. It’s just the nerves getting to me. Please don’t stop now.”

Draco just looked at Albus carefully.

“I promise, Draco. I want this. I want this with you.” Albus looked at Draco earnestly, and when had Draco ever been able to resist those green, green eyes? 

“Fine, but you have to promise to say something if it becomes too much.” Albus was looking away again, pointedly not making eye contact. “Albus, I’m serious. We won’t be doing anything unless you promise me you’ll stop us if it’s too much.” 

He reached out a hand and gently raised Albus’s chin, making sure that Albus couldn’t look away from him. The expression he saw there was something he couldn’t interpret. There was longing and desire, tinged with desperation, but he also thought he saw sadness that didn’t feel like it belonged here in this moment. 

“I promise, Draco.” Albus leaned into Draco’s hand and gave him a smirk. “So does this mean that we’ve finally reached the good part?” 

“I resent the notion that every moment spent in my company isn’t considered the ‘good part.’” 

“I’m sure every moment with you offers something unique,” Albus said, in that open and guileless way of his. “But this particular moment will be something else, if only because—well, you’re you, and I’m me.” 

Draco couldn’t help but think that Albus did have a point. For whatever reason, fate, or Merlin or what have you, had brought one Draco Malfoy and one Albus Potter together on this strange February 15th. He brought his lips down to meet Albus’s and pressed them together in a chaste kiss. Albus parted his lips and pushed his tongue lightly against Draco’s lips, seeking to deepen the kiss. Draco allowed him to do just that and they were soon locked in the best kind of fight, each seeking to dominate the other. 

Albus put a hand on Draco’s chest and they both took a moment to breathe. “Shall we move this into the bedroom?” he asked, a wild look in his eyes. Draco could only nod and turn, grabbing a hold of Albus’s hand as he did so. 

When they reached the bedroom, Albus wasted no time in getting undressed, casually doing a bit of wandless magic to send his clothes flying. Draco was impressed. He’d had no idea that Albus was so powerful. 

“We’ve been learning new tricks, I see,” he commented, trying, and by the look on Albus’s face, failing, to hide his awe. “Well,” he motioned to his own clothes, “are you going to do mine?” 

Albus raised a hand, but Draco stopped him with a finger. “But please, if you would be so kind as to not just throw them in a pile like a heathen. I have a perfectly good wardrobe for that.” 

Albus only shook his head fondly, but did as Draco asked. 

Now that they were both naked, they paused for a moment to look. And Draco was not disappointed. Albus was like all of Draco’s teenage fantasies come to life, without the side of skinny malnourishment. Although slightly shorter than Draco, he was long and lean and everything was in proportion. Or, well, the only thing that was out of proportion was… well, it wasn’t something Draco would be complaining about. 

Albus also seemed to be looking to his heart’s content, his heated gaze raking across Draco’s body, lingering on the scars across his chest and his hard cock. Draco wasn’t quite as hung as Albus, but none of his previous partners had ever complained.

With one last glance at Albus, Draco turned towards the bed, offering Albus what he knew to be one of his best views. You could say a lot about the combination of Muggle and Wizard clothing, it did hug his arse just so, but nothing could compare to it like this. Draco could hear Albus’s intake of breath and smirked to himself. Damn, he still had it. He sunk down into the mattress and beckoned over his shoulder. 

Albus moved so quickly from the door to the bed that Draco was sure that magic had to have been involved. But then, he didn’t care much how it had happened, just that it had. With a sure hand, Albus reached and pushed Draco onto his back, settling on top of him. 

“Oh, so this is how we’re going to do it?” Draco teased, but it turned into a moan as Albus closed a hand over the head of his cock, stroking it gently. Somewhere between the door and the bed, he’d managed to conjure lube, and Draco would be impressed if he wasn’t so focused on other things. 

“I want to see your face,” Albus said simply, and Draco could do nothing but nod. 

“Kiss me,” he demanded. Albus obliged, bending over so that his lips could meet Draco’s in a messy kiss. Draco gave as good as he got, expertly using his tongue and lips to elicit responses from Albus, and even getting a good jerk when he used his teeth. Too soon, the sensations were overwhelming and Draco half-heartedly tried to get Albus to stop. 

Albus caught on immediately and removed his hand from where it had been on Draco’s cock, instead trailing his fingers down and down and down. “You think that’s going to be better,” Draco tried to demand, but it came out on a soft breath as Albus’s finger slid in. 

“No,” Albus chuckled. “But I trust that you won’t come until I tell you.” There was a challenge in his eyes that Draco couldn’t ignore. 

“Fine, I’ll be your good boy.” Draco had meant the words flippantly, but Albus’s pupils became even wider, the green barely visible. 

“Yes, you’re mine.” 

Now it was Draco’s turn to shiver. He moved his hips, trying to get Albus to move things along. Albus removed his hand and started stroking his own cock. Draco’s mouth watered at the thought of one day getting his mouth on it. 

“Oh, I’ll have you on your knees begging for it,” Albus said. Apparently, some of what Draco had been thinking had slipped out. “But first, I’m going to fuck you so hard that you’ll be feeling it for days to come.” 

He lifted Draco’s knees up and over his shoulders. Draco’s body only protested slightly at the brusque movements, it was too focused on the pleasure to be had. “Remember what I said, no coming until I say so.” 

Draco nodded his head as Albus lined himself up. His breath was forced in at the first breach of Albus’s cock, but he breathed out and forced himself to relax. He was by no means inexperienced, but Albus’s cock was huge. Albus seemed to be aware of this fact, and was moving slowly to give Draco time to get used to the sensation of being filled. Soon, though, Draco was ready for more. 

“Are you sure that’s all you can give me, Potter?” 

“Is that a challenge I hear, Malfoy?” Albus responded with a gleam in his eyes, pushing all the way in without pausing. “I’ll show you what I can give you.” 

Draco found that he couldn’t speak, but he didn’t really need to. Albus began slowly thrusting in and out and Draco let out a loud moan when he found the spot that made Draco’s insides feel as if they’d been filled with Elixir to Induce Euphoria. 

“Right there,” he grunted. “Again. Please, Albus.” Albus continued his relentless motion, and he reached a hand to take hold once again of Draco’s cock. There was no more finesse, simply a rough hand moving in tandem to rough thrusts, the sounds of slapping flesh and breathy moans all that could be heard. Draco could feel it building, and he looked desperately to Albus. 

“Are you going to come for me, Draco?” 

“Not until you say so,” Draco responded, and it took every inch of his fortitude to do just that. 

“Good,” Albus huffed, continuing to thrust his hips and move his hand on Draco’s cock. 

Draco waited on a hair’s breadth, trying desperately to keep Albus’s face in focus as he waited for permission. His brain was so addled that it kept merging the face in front of him with the face of from his childhood, one moment there was a scar and the next it was gone. It was an important distinction, but he couldn’t quite remember why it mattered at the moment. 

“You can come.” 

Draco closed his eyes and finally, finally, finally felt the orgasm that had been building and building release. His taut muscles instantly relaxed, and he was only distantly aware of Albus’s thrusts becoming more erratic. 

“Malfoy,” Albus cried and Draco felt his arsehole fill. He looked up and the image of the two Potters had finally settled, and he was no longer looking into the eyes of a doppelgänger Harry Potter, but Harry Potter himself. He couldn’t help but startle and try to move away, but Albus’s, or no, Potter’s, hands held him in place. 

What the fuck was Harry Potter doing in his bed when just moments ago, he was sure it had been Albus?

“Oh fuck,” Potter sighed when he realized that Draco was no longer in the hazed out bliss of post-orgasm. “I must’ve changed back.” 

“Changed back? From what? Where did Albus go?” 

“You’re smarter than this, Draco,” Potter chastised, sounding weary. 

“You do not have permission to call me that, Potter,” Draco said icily. “I gave your son that permission, and you, despite your startling resemblance to each other, are not him.”

“Fine, Malfoy.” 

“Did you fucking polyjuice as your son and then fuck me?” For Polyjuice Potion was the only answer Draco could see to the puzzle in front of him. One moment, one person was in front of him, the next, it was another person entirely. Short of an actual body snatch, it had to be Polyjuice. .

“Got it in one,” Potter said, sounding not as guilty as Draco thought he probably should. 

“What did you do with your son? I’m assuming he didn’t consent to you polyjuicing as him? And speaking of consent, I certainly did not agree to fucking you.” Not that Draco would have said no to fucking Harry Potter, he wasn’t a fool, but he still would have liked to know beforehand. 

Now, Potter did look the slightest bit guilty. “I may have given him a strong potion to make sure that he slept throughout the night.” 

Draco continued to give him one of his _looks_ , and Potter continued. 

“I was worried about him, okay? He said he was meeting someone, and he was uncharacteristically excited and bashful. When he wouldn’t tell me who he was meeting, I knew something had to be up. I had to protect my son. So when he made us afternoon tea, I slipped the potion into his drink.” He was still holding himself above Draco, and the moment had moved beyond awkward. “It worked surprisingly well—he was out immediately.”

“And you don’t feel like that was a bad thing to do?” 

“I don’t feel great about it, no,” Potter admitted. “But I certainly feel better about it than if I’d let him fuck you. I was protecting him.” 

“And fucking your old arch-nemesis protects him how?” Draco asked archly. 

“Well, it certainly means that you’re not fucking him,” Potter accused. 

“That’s not an actual answer to my question. You could have stopped us way earlier in the evening, revealing your true identity. You must have wanted this.” 

“Maybe I did.” Potter sighed. “Maybe I just wanted to see what it’d be like to have the infamous Draco Malfoy in my bed. Maybe I’ve realized that my schoolboy obsession with you was about more than just your family’s connection to Voldemort. But that still doesn’t excuse your behaviour. Fucking my 19-year-old son? You want to talk about consent? Let’s talk about what it means that you’re 45-years-old and apparently sleeping with a 19-year-old. Who looks up to you. Who trusts you to help him.” 

“I wasn’t the one who was so eager for this,” Draco pointed out. “That was all your son.” 

“What the hell does it matter, Malfoy? You were the adult in this situation, the one who was supposed to have the good sense to say no to the desires of a 19-year-old. You should’ve known better.” 

“I did tell him no, multiple times in fact. But he still insisted on coming onto me.” 

“That’s not an excuse. He’s still a child. You’re an adult.” 

Draco didn’t say anything, only looked away from Potter. 

“With a son about his age, if I recall correctly.” 

“Scorpius has nothing to do with this. You leave him out of it.”

“You’re the one who brought my son into it.” 

“Your son brought himself into this. Besides,” Draco continued, “how did you know I had a son? My life hasn’t been plastered all over the international wizarding news like someone else’s.” 

Now Potter was the one who couldn’t hold eye contact. 

“Hmm, Potter, nothing to say for yourself? Using your big, strong Head Auror powers to catch up on an old schoolmate?” 

“How do you know I’m the Head Auror? Maybe you’re the one who’s been stalking me!” Potter accused. 

“I don’t have to stalk you to know what the bloody hell you’re up to at every moment. The press does a fine job of keeping up.” 

“It’s mostly untrue,” Potter protested. 

“Apparently not all of it,” Draco commented, looking up and down Potter’s body. 

Potter blushed. “Fuck off.” 

“I would, but you’re kind of on top of me.” 

Potter pushed himself off, and Draco immediately missed the warmth. 

“That was still a pretty fucked up thing for you to do. Drug your own son and then have sex with someone as him,” Draco pointed out, unable to let it go. 

“Well, I could say the same about you. Fucking a 19-year-old solely because he happens to look like his famous father.” 

Draco held up a hand in protest. It wasn’t _only_ for that reason. “Or,” Potter amended, “to fuck with his famous father.” 

Draco conceded the point. It was true, for Merlin’s sake. “I think we can both admit that we’re both very fucked up when it comes to this.” 

Potter just nodded his head. “Maybe that means something with regards to, well, this.” He motioned between them, where Draco’s come was still dripping on his stomach.

“Maybe,” Draco admitted, and that was all he was going to give Potter right now. He wasn’t ready to process what had just transpired, and simply wanted to sleep for a few hours, and then maybe have another go with the real Harry Potter. And then, he thought he’d be ready for an adult conversation about how fucked up they both were. 

He turned over and closed his eyes, a clear sign that he was done with this conversation. He heard a soft sigh as Potter got out of bed and shuffled away, most likely to go to the washroom. He let himself drift off, and his dreams soon carried him far away. 

….

Draco came to consciousness slowly. His body ached in the best kind of way, tangible evidence of a night well-spent. A small smile slowly lit up his face as he remembered just _who_ had been in his bed the night before. He felt a warm arm curling around his stomach, and moved even closer into the embrace. 

“Mmm, Draco,” a voice that was rough with sleep murmured into his hair. “It’s still early yet. There’s no need for us to be up, is there?” 

“I can give you one good reason to get up,” Draco said with a smirk, pushing the arm that was wrapped around him away and manoeuvring them so that he was resting on top, knees spread wide. He could already feel something interested in _getting up_. 

“Hmm, I’d say you can.” 

Draco leaned forward to demonstrate further why waking up at such an hour was a good reason, when he suddenly stopped short. Familiar green eyes were staring back at him, but they were on a much younger face, and there was no scar. He looked down at himself, and no, nothing else had changed. He pushed off the bed and ran into the washroom. 

“Draco, is everything alright?” Albus, and no, it couldn’t be Albus, it was supposed to be Potter, goddamnit. 

Draco looked in the mirror desperately, but was greeted by the same face as yesterday, which meant that this didn’t have something to do with an accidental deaging potion or spell. 

Albus had followed him into the washroom and was reaching towards him. “What’s wrong?” he asked worriedly, trying to pull Draco into an embrace. Draco pushed himself away from the mirror and stalked back into the bedroom, looked around wildly, as if Potter was simply hiding. 

“We were having such a good time last night, and I thought we might get a repeat performance.” 

“Is your father in town?” Draco asked desperately, picking up Albus’s clothes from the floor and throwing them down again in a fit. 

“My father? Why are you asking about him? You promised me my father wouldn’t be a part of this,” Albus insisted angrily. 

“Please just answer the question.”

Albus sighed, seeing that there was no point in denying Draco this information. “If you simply must know, then no. He owled me yesterday to tell me that work had delayed him and he wouldn’t be able to make it until next week.” 

Draco could only close his eyes and wonder what the hell had happened the night before. It had felt so real. It couldn’t have been a dream. He’d been able to touch Potter, to touch his famous scar, to feel all of that intensity focused solely on him. It had been everything that he’d always craved from Potter. 

But now he was looking at a very distraught Albus, with no Harry Potter in sight. It must have been a dream—a superbly fucked up one, certainly, but a dream nonetheless. Could he even do this with Albus if Potter was going to feature in very vivid and explicit dreams? He knew it was wrong; he’d always known the reasons that he wanted to sleep with Albus were wrong, but this felt more real. He could see the hurt in Albus’s eyes. 

Albus didn’t deserve this. He deserved someone who wanted to be with him for who he was, and not because of his father. But Draco was never going to be that person. 

What had he been thinking? Sleeping with Albus had been a bad idea, and he’d known it from the start. He should end it.

“Draco, please,” Albus said, looking at him with such vulnerability in his eyes. “Whatever dream you had last night, or whatever is making you question this, forget about it. I don’t care. I just want you. Please.” 

Draco found that he couldn’t say no. That he didn’t want to say no. Albus certainly deserved better, but he was too selfish to stop. He’d never been good at denying himself what he wanted.

….

Harry continued to stare at Malfoy. He’d been right. Malfoy was still a pointy git, but he’d aged well. Even though he now wore his hair shorter than when they’d been in school, it still looked good. The grey robes that he was wearing looked so soft that Harry just wanted to rub his cheek against them. 

“Ahem,” Malfoy coughed. “If you’re quite done, we can finish setting up Albus’s bank account.”

Harry blinked and refocused his gaze. “I’m sorry that he couldn’t join us today. He told me this morning that he’d come down with something, but he seemed perfectly fine at dinner last night.” For some reason, those words had caused a slight blush to colour Malfoy’s cheeks. 

“I’m sure he’ll feel better soon,” Malfoy said dismissively. 

“I hope so. I can’t be in Paris long, but I’d love to see some of the city. I haven’t been here since…” he trailed off as he thought of the last time he was in Paris. He and Ginny had just gotten engaged, and they’d spent most of the time celebrating. They’d been young and in love and drunk on the cheapest boxed wine they could find. “Well,” he continued, “it’s been a long time and I’m sure it’s changed.” 

“It has. It’s quite a beautiful city, and there’s much less separation between Muggle and Wizarding spaces. I’m sure someone like you would find it interesting.” 

“If only I knew someone who could show me around?” He hadn’t come to Paris to ask Draco sodding Malfoy out, but when a gift horse showed itself, you didn’t look it in the mouth. 

“I’m not sure that’s such a great idea,” Malfoy responded. 

“Why not?” Harry asked. He knew that Malfoy found him attractive, had known since he’d walked into the office. There was an intensity in his eyes that Harry was familiar with. 

“You and me, together? Ridiculous.” 

“Is it that ridiculous? You and me, two sides of the same coin, both manipulated into fighting on opposite sides of a war, both too young to have any real autonomy over our lives. Both divorced. Both with kids. I think we’re more alike than you think.” 

Malfoy shook his head. “You don’t even know the half of it, Potter. But who am I to deny the great Harry Potter a tour of my humble city? Meet me tomorrow at noon. Bring Albus if he’s feeling better—his French could use some work, oui?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are ♥
> 
> Come find me on [tumblr](http://glittering-git.tumblr.com/) and [Dreamwidth](https://glittering-git.dreamwidth.org/)!


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